Chapter 30
It’s almost game time, and you can feel it in the air. The stadium is buzzing with anticipation. Fans are already lining up outside, waiting for the doors to open, and the Miami team has just arrived. Everything is in place, everything is running on schedule, it’s going to be a successful day.
I’m at my desk, scheduling a few last posts that will go live within minutes: the lineup announcement, warm-up clips, player reels. Each one designed to dominate the feed. I hit schedule, close my laptop, and lean back in my chair, exhaling.
Then Emily bursts into the office, flustered.
“A bit of a change of plans,” she says, brushing a stray hair from her face. “The press conference has been moved to after the game.”
“What? Why?” I ask, straightening in my chair.
“I don’t know,” she huffs, clearly spiraling. “I was just told to adjust the time. Apparently, Rogue is going to make some kind of big announcement.”
“Isn’t the press conference supposed to be with—”
“Yes!” She throws her hands in the air. “That’s what I’m saying! What the hell is this about?”
My mind spins with possibilities, but Emily beats me to it. “He better not be about to announce he’s breaking his contract to go to Miami, because I will lose it.”
“No,” I say, too quickly. “He wouldn’t.”
Emily turns to me, her expression sharp. “Don’t be so naive, Catalina. Money is money.”
My phone dings with a text, but I don’t look. My stomach tightens. Could he?
Before I can spiral, the door opens and June walks in with two women who look so much like her they could be triplets. All three have the same unmistakable warmth in their features, different, yet connected.
June’s smile falters when she catches Emily’s expression. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes,” I say, standing. “Emily, how about you go announce the change to the press and we’ll … go with the flow, all right? I’m sure it’s nothing bad.”
She exhales dramatically and leaves the room, muttering under her breath.
“Emily being Emily,” I say, turning back to June with a shrug. “Slight change of plans for the press conference—it’ll happen after the game instead of before.”
Then I turn to the two new arrivals. “You must be April and May.”
“Oh! Yes,” June says, catching herself. “Where are my manners? Catalina, this is April.” She gestures to the shorter of the pair—beautiful, with long brunette waves and bright-brown eyes.
“Hi!” April beams, pulling me into a hug.
“Hi,” I laugh, hugging her back.
“It’s so nice to meet you! We’ve heard a lot about you,” she says.
“All good things, I hope.”
June smiles. “And this is May.” She nods toward the taller woman—another stunner, with sleek black hair, bright-green eyes, and a calm confidence.
“Hi,” May mutters. She doesn’t initiate a hug, so I do because something about her feels familiar.
“Nice to meet you, May. Thank you both so much for coming to help today.”
“Oh, it’s no problem,” April says, looking around, eyes wide with excitement. “This is so cool.”
Before I can respond, someone knocks and the door swings open. Thiago steps in, grin wide enough to light the hallway.
“Catalina—” He freezes when he notices the room. “Damn. I didn’t know it was ‘bring your hot friends to work’ day.’”
I roll my eyes, trying not to laugh.
“I found these two beauties at the gate,” he adds, then Bri and Marianna make their way in behind him.
I rush forward to greet them, “Hey, girls!” I wrap them both in a hug.
Thiago’s still standing there, eyebrows raised, grinning like a fool.
“Thank you, Thiago,” I state. “You can go now.”
“Catalina—” he starts, but I step closer.
“May I remind you,” I say, hands on my hips, “that the Strikers are playing against the best footballer in the world today?”
“Ugh, don’t remind me,” he groans. “Rogue’s been telling Coach to put me in, and I’m freaking out.”
I smile. “You’ll be fine. Just guard that post with your life, okay?”
He grins. “Whose jersey are you wearing today?”
“I don’t know yet,” I tease. “Haven’t decided.”
I close the door behind him, shaking my head. When I turn back, the girls are already chatting—introductions, laughter, the easy kind of energy that always fills a room when people instantly click.
I clap my hands once. “Alright, ladies. Are we ready to talk game plan? Because we’ve got a full stadium to win over”—I grab my tablet—“and several margaritas waiting for us tonight.”
The plan is in place, and everything should run smoothly.
Bri and April are stationed with the fans, ready to capture the chaos—the noise, the outfits, the handmade signs, all the heart of game day that lives beyond the pitch.
May’s assignment is a little different. She’ll be in the VIP box, which promises to be packed with celebrities tonight.
Like June predicted, she didn’t exactly jump for joy when we told her where we needed her.
She shrugged and muttered, “Okay” while the others stood there, jaws on the floor at the word VIP.
Marianna is paired with me on the field, helping shoot video as I review everything that comes in. She’ll handle live angles while I edit and post clips from the cloud in real time. June will be on the opposite sideline, running stories and behind-the-scenes updates.
If all goes as well as Rogue’s welcome ceremony, our coverage will be nearly live—constant, fast, electric. Exactly how I like it.
After walking April and Bri to their posts by the main stadium entrance, I finally check my personal phone. My notifications are chaos, but one name freezes me in place.
Rogue.
A text from over an hour ago.
Rogue:
Could I see you before the game?
My heart jumps, and my fingers fly over the screen.
Me:
I’m so sorry, Rogue. I didn’t see your message until just now. Are you able to leave the locker room?
The typing bubbles appear instantly before his reply lands.
Rogue:
Coach Gaz won’t be pleased, but I can. Are you in your office?
I glance around, pulse quickening. The doors are about to open, and I shouldn’t even consider this, but the thought of him wanting to see me—and knowing he’s about to make some kind of announcement after the game—undoes every ounce of logic I have.
My fingers hover over the keyboard.
Me:
I’ll be there in a few minutes. Door’s open.
I hit send before I can second-guess it, then rush toward the nearest set of elevators. As I walk, I open a new text thread.
Me:
Rogue’s heading to the office. Can you take Anna with you and start the locker-room roundups?
June:
*side-eye* yes boss
By the time I reach the lower level, my pulse is a drumbeat in my ears. Why does he want to see me? Is this about the announcement? Is Emily right? Could he be leaving? Or does he just … want to see me?
I take a deep breath and push open my office door.
He’s already there.
All I see at first is his back—broad, solid, the bright sky-blue Strikers jersey hugging his shoulders. A bold 23 stretches across his spine. When he hears the door, he turns, and his expression shifts from stormy concentration to a smile that steals the air right out of the room.
I step inside, close the door, and lean against it for a second, because this man literally makes me forget how to breathe. He takes the oxygen from every space he’s in and leaves me gasping for what’s left.
“Hey, kitten,” he murmurs, stepping toward me.
I smile, my heart doing its own somersaults. My hair’s braided to the side, and he catches the tail of the braid between his fingers, running his thumb over it.
“Whose jersey are you wearing today?” he asks, catching my hand and turning me gently in a half circle.
“Mmm,” he hums. “Number thirteen. Thiago will be happy.”
“He’s really nervous about today,” I say, turning back to face him, still holding his hand. Why am I this nervous? “I figured I’d show him a little support.”
He nods, still quiet, still watching me.
“You wanted to see me?” I ask, voice smaller than I’d like.
“Aye,” he says. “I’m sure you know by now I’m having a press conference with Messi after the game.”
“Mm-hm …”
“Will you be there?” he asks.
“Yes. Of course.”
“Grand.” His smile deepens. “I know you’ll be filming for the Strikers, but is there any way I could get a few of the videos sent my way after?”
“Yes, of course.” His eyes are still on me, calm but unreadable. “Rogue … are you leaving? To play for Miami?”
His brow lifts slightly. “Why, kitten? Do you want to move to Miami?” His grin is half teasing, half disarming.
I look at him, flustered. “No, I—It’s just that Emily was freaking out about your press conference, and she said maybe you’d be offered a bigger deal there. She thought you were breaking your contract.”
He lets out a small laugh, and the tension in the room shifts instantly. “And you thought I’d make that decision and just leave you?”
I open my mouth to respond but nothing comes out. Leave me?
“You’ll hear it at the press conference,” he says, voice low and warm, “but Leo and I got to talking. I told him about wanting to open a second SGA here in Great Lakes, and he mentioned he’s been thinking about doing the same in Miami, we made some calls, and well … we’re announcing it together.”
My jaw drops. “Seriously? That’s incredible!”
“Aye. I thought you’d be excited, after all, it was your idea.”
“Oh my gosh I am so excited. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to film and edit a few clips you can post on your own socials. I’ll send them to you right after the conference so you can post them right away.”
He nods, still holding my hand. Then he brings it to his lips, the lightest kiss brushing across my skin—brief, but enough to make my pulse stumble. The excitement that filled me seconds ago shifts into something slower, warmer, spreading through me in waves.
His gaze never leaves mine as he turns my hand slightly, pressing another kiss to my fingers, then the back of my hand, and finally, to the inside of my wrist, and my pulse thrums against his mouth.
“Thank you, kitten,” he murmurs, eyes still locked on me. “Thank you for inspiring me to show the world who I really am.”
He doesn’t look away, and I swear the air between us changes—thicker, charged, alive. There aren’t enough words in the dictionary to describe what I feel as his gaze holds me there, completely undone.